


Mistletoe

by thescienceofsherlolly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caught in the Act, Christmas Fluff, F/M, John is done, Mistletoe, Rough Kissing, Sherlock: Show's over John. Close the door on your way out ;), oh my god you can tag on this thing?, sorry - Freeform, the tagging! I can't get over it, there's kissing, these are tags!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5479421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescienceofsherlolly/pseuds/thescienceofsherlolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson hatches a plan but Sherlock beats him to it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, Sherlollies <3

They just solved the biggest case of the decade. No, the _century_ , and, naturally, Scotland Yard wanted to reward it’s team by organising a Christmas party in one of the old function rooms.

Sherlock Holmes, one of the main reasons the case was solved so quickly, had insisted on his non-attendance at the knees up.

Molly Hooper, another of those reasons, had also begged her excuses.

Why? Because they were sleeping together. They _had_ to be, he concluded. Philip Anderson had spent many hours pondering the situation; he became even more convinced when, all of a sudden, the timid pathologist announced her intention to attend...prompting the consulting detective to have the quickest change of hearts Anderson had ever witnessed.

Conclusion: shagging.

He’d become very good at seeing the unseen, reading between the lines, noticing, watching; their infrequent but lingering touches, the gazes that held a little too long, the way he spoke to her, the detective’s clenched fists whenever a colleague made a pass at her. He’d even tried confronting them about it - Sherlock had snapped at him to mind his own business, the whole thing having been made up in his head whilst Molly had blushed and made an effort to change the subject. If there was one thing that Philip Anderson was proud of, it was his persistence.

Even now, at this fairly decent party, he watched them as they struggled in their efforts to avoid eye contact; he smirked into his punch - oh, this was going to be fun.

* * *

 

"Well, at least you made the effort,” John Watson commented, motioning at the small yet festive Santa badge pinned to his friend’s lapel. Sherlock Holmes, however, didn’t appear to be listening; he was too busy hungrily eyeing the buffet table.

The army doctor followed his friend’s gaze to the delicious punch bowl, obscured by Molly Hooper and her companion, an eager Greg Lestrade. Molly fiddled with the uncomfortable strand of tinsel wrapped around her hair; she was...glancing their way? He gave her a little wave just in case. Nothing. He sighed.

* * *

 

“Just gonna call Mary,” John called over the music, still receiving no indication he’d even been heard. He rolled his eyes as he left.

There had been a noise next to him, something. Complaining? It didn’t matter; Sherlock was too busy trying to deduce what the hell Graham Lestrade was playing at with his hand on Molly’s hip and just what it was he had said that was making her laugh so much.

“He asked her to dance.”

Sherlock turned so fast, Anderson almost staggered; apparently, he hadn’t been expecting company. That, and the drink in his hand definitely wasn’t his first. His blue eyes narrowed.

“Sorry?”

“Greg. He asked Molly Hooper to dance,” he nodded over at the giggling pair, the inspector’s hand still sitting pretty, “in private,” Anderson enunciated, waiting for the penny to drop in front of the tipsy detective, “...to his phone.”

There were several moments of eye flicking as Sherlock processed the words; sure enough, Greg was finishing his drink and leading Molly away; Sherlock crushed his plastic cup effortlessly before storming out of the room, Belstaff flapping behind him.

Anderson stood smirking, watching as Greg winked on his way to the door; he noticed Molly sipping at her drink, desperate to follow after the Inspector - it was now or never. 

* * *

Greg stumbled back into the party, grinning from ear to ear as he made his way back over to the sweet, sweet punch; John was already there, having returned from...Narnia, by the looks of him. His cheeks were pinks and little snowflakes still clung to his crisp coat, he could see every little...detail...

"Are you alright?" The army doctor chuckled, grasping Greg's arm as he leaned against him; he recieved a nod in reply and rolled his eyes, "where's Sherlock?"

Greg shrugged, "no idea, mate. I went to the bathroom. I fink he left...I don't feel well."

After leaning the inebriated Inspector against the nearest wall, John left the now fairly quiet party in search of his friend; it didn't take him long to find the corridor of rooms usually used for interrogations - it was deathly quiet. He checked his phone for the umpteenth time. Nothing. Of course there was nothing. Why would Sherlock Holmes-

He looked up immediately after hearing a faint crashing noise from one of the rooms; sure enough, the door to Interview Room 1 or 11 - he had had three - stood ajar. he cautiously approached, blindly fiddling for light switch when he reached the room.

"Hello?"

John's eyes only took a moment to adjust to the bright white light and they focused on the two entwined bodies in the centre of the room, separating only a millisecond later; yup, there was the elusive consulting detective alright wrapped around his flustered companion, Molly Hooper, an upturned chair beside them. He tried very hard to ignore their tousled hair and red lips, ruffled clothes and longing gazes; neither of them said anything. But they did smirk. John allowed his eyes to travel down, staring at the crumpled tinsel strand at their feet; he massaged his forehead, preparing for the headache this union would no doubt bring him. Before any of them could break the uncomfortable silence, Anderson staggered in breathlessly behind John, already speaking at maximum speed.

"John, have you seen Sherlock? I think he left and I this idea-" he then took note of the other two people in the room, and the fact that Sherlock's hand was settled on the spot he now realised Greg had only grasped innocently; he dropped the mistletoe sprig to the ground dramatically before shaking his head, "never mind."


End file.
